


Crosses

by pontchamplaint



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pontchamplaint/pseuds/pontchamplaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a simple seeming job goes wrong, Trevor Philips is handed the momentous task of raising a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Trevor Philips rarely found himself running any form of errands for old accomplices, despite having taking up rather a few of them since setting up the foundations of his drug empire. This was due, in part, to the vast majority of them now resting deep under the sandy oblivion that was Blaine County.

One of his only partnerships to have ended well, so to speak, was a rather long-winded one with a guy named Trent, who Trevor had both somewhat admired and loathed. Trent was strong-willing and stood up for himself, despite being quite the laid back valley boy who didn't really belong in the drug peddling business. He’d always reminded Trevor of an Australian tourist he'd once thrown in front of a train back in North Yankton, which had been one of the only reasons the man had kept him around, really.

Since Trent's constant presence had eventually begun to eat away at Trevor's will to continue living, they'd reached a comfortable compromise. Trent would run the dope side of things, way over in Los Santos, and he would call Ron whenever he needed anything, so Trevor never had to hear his toe-curling drawl every again. It was a comfortable arrangement, one that hadn't ended with Trent's innards splattered all over Trevor's trailer, which he supposed meant a lot. And while Trevor got little from it beside pocket change, it had been oddly satisfying.

So just when Trevor had begun enjoying life again, after leaving the stress of running heists, the sudden reincarnation of his best friend far, far behind him in order to settle down and build up his glorious empire, he'd was rather suprise to receive a phone call from an unknown number. Initially assuming that it was, either, a potential employee at the strip club, or some organization he had somehow wronged calling to threaten him, he was beyond the point of dismay when greeted with a simple drawl that he immediately recognized as that of Trent. It had made Trevor want to tear what little hair he had left out, just hearing the younger man’s smug, vague tones, Trevor having evidently lost his tolerance for in the male's absence.

"We had a deal, you little shit!" Trevor had barked down the phone at the male, expecting a heartfelt apology, too wound up from the cocktail of drugs he'd taken that morning to realize the world didn't react to his whims.

"I know we did, man. I called Ron, told him about my predicament. And he told me to call you." Trent drawled disinterestedly in response.

"Ah, of course. I'm going to have to discipline the shit out of old Ron when I get home." Trevor muttered, standing from the chair he'd been inhabiting for the majority of the morning and pulling up his pants before flicking his internet browser back to its homepage abruptly. The male flicked his phone onto loudspeaker, leaving it on the office's desk as he went to wash the grime from his face.

"Speak." Trevor snapped after a moment of listening to Trent's mouth breathing.

“There's this guy who said he'd do some work for me. Nathan, something or other. He wanted to get into dealing, mostly, maybe growing, though he didn't sound... Well, he made off with a good fifty percent of my product, sold it to some wannabe gangsta types around his apartment, and kept the money. All to himself." Trent sighed almost wistfully, giving Trevor the time to consider.

"So... You want me to teach this guy a lesson, get the cash, or both? 'Cause, you know, I'm not partial or anything..." He asked, a rush of childish giddiness rushing over him. He hadn't done any jobs that didn't involve stealing alcohol for one of the clubs he owned for quite a while.

"Both. Do what you want with him, I mean." Trent sounded vague and Trevor was surprised it had taken him this long to realize that the other male was probably rather high.

"Fine. Send me his details and I'll go get your money, rough him up a little for 'ya." He took his phone back, making to hang up.

"Actually... Y-you're at the strip club, aren't you? Ron said you owned the place, now."

"He was correct. I own a bar in Paleto Bay, too. I’m buildin’ up _quite_ the empire.” Trevor bragged, having made his way back to his desk, lounging in his chair.

"The bastard lives Chamberlain Hills. Crystal Heights, apartment nine. You're not too far away. What, five minutes? Oh, but the  _traffic_ -" By that point, Trent's voice was beginning to tempt Trevor into cutting his ears off, so he hung up, moving to the blanket-strewn sofa that he usually slept on and shoving his boots on. The male made to leave the grungy office room that he often lived in, proceeding to the back of the strip club and idly smacking the backside of a blonde dancer on his way past, a hop in his step.

There was a light drizzle of rain, the freshness of an oncoming thunderstorm, but Trevor didn't really care. If he got wet, he got wet. Without hesitation, he hopped into his truck, starting the rusty old thing up without it stalling, for once.

It took him less than five minutes to reach Chamberlain Heights; Franklin's old neighbourhood, he recalled. He could easily go and torment his aunt afterwards, if scaring some defenceless teenager shitless didn't give him his desired kick; the old hag deserved it, anyway. Franklin had told him plenty of horror stories about the woman over the passing year, mostly while drunk and Trevor just wanted to rip her throat to shreds, really.

Crystal Heights was a dealer's delight. Well, certainly that of a freelancing dealer. It housed mainly gang-banger types, Trevor knew, though a few hookers he was mutual with had resided there at one point, too. There were many rental signs scattered around the place, stylized in a neat looking courtyard. Trevor admired his surrounding pointing at two guys hanging outside one of the lower floor apartments, smoking something that wasn't tobacco and offering them a very exaggerated nod, which was returned with spacey confusion from the two.

Trevor, not being the sort of person who was all that into the concept of knocking, pushed on the wood of the door in an attempt at testing the waters, surprised beyond words that it was unlocked. He'd been looking forward to kicking a door down, and hadn’t in the least bit expected it to be that damn easy. He frowned a little to himself as he stepped into the smoky, beyond-cluttered apartment, the sound of a television blearing into the apparent argument taking place in the living room. Nobody had noticed Trevor was there, which a part of him was sort of glad for. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape of his life.

The male stepped over cracked glass, around heaps of garbage that would have undoubtedly rustle if he stepped on them, clambering over a door that had been pulled from its hinges. He armed himself with a simple pistol, just in case, though he highly doubted that these people would be the gun-brandishing type. One shot of the weapon would be all he needed to scare his target off, he assumed. Slowly, he clambered around the door, all sense of stealth falling, all of a sudden.

There was a brown haired male, haggard in appearance, knelt in the only space of the room that wasn't littered with masses of rubbish. He was holding a slender female in a tight grasp, by the throat. A woman with long, dishevelled auburn hair, clumped together with masses of clashing blood.

Trevor watched in silence as the man's fist hit his captive's face once again, thumped at bruised features, pale skin that Trevor knew was probably beginning to chill.

"Y-you made me f-fuckin’… M-money doesn’t grow on trees, you…” He grunted incoherently through a thick accent, his entire form swaying, dragging the corpse in his grasp along with him. Trevor’s boot stepped on a discarded piece of garbage, alerting Nathan to his presence.

Nathan never got the chance to react, though, Trevor shooting him once, straight between the eyes. He approached the two slowly, spotting heavy bruising on the woman’s bare arms, bite marks, cigarette scorches, and he pulled the man away from his girlfriend’s form, because she deserved better in death than she had been given in life. He crunched Nathan’ skull against his boot, more because the woman he killed reminded him of his beautiful flower of a mother, and how dare that monster lay a hand on her? He pulled away, closing the woman’s dull emerald eyes and stepping away, his throat burning.

Trevor attempted to look for the money, but he assumed it had already been spent on harder drugs. He made to leave, the bounce gone from his stride, reminded in an instant on how shitty the world was.

He stopped in his tracks when a sharp cry hit him, emanating from the dark, dingy room that was missing a door. It was almost like that of a pained cat, desperate, sudden. The shock made Trevor's throat dry, and the male swallowed, slowly approaching the room, curiosity and adrenaline pushing him along. He stepped over a large pile of old, dirty clothes, on an already shattered picture frame of a happy looking couple by the beach.

The room smelt of rot and decay, a scent that although familiar to Trevor, was disgusting in such high exposure. It was a bedroom, from what Trevor could grasp, a bare mattress piled high with various blankets, more than enough coverage needed for a San Andreas summer. The cries that Trevor had initially heard had softened into whines, Trevor approaching the corner of the room, a darkwood crib that was barely visible in the faint lick of sunlight that was dripping into the corner of the room. Trevor already knew what he was expecting, yet it didn't seem real, the male stumbling almost drunkenly to the side of the cot, peaking over.

There was an infant in the crib, a flick of shocking red hair, milk crusted around its mouth. The child was dressed in a dirty blue baby grow, that smelt the sort of sickly sweet of unwashed clothing, even from afar. While the creature smelt awful, it was of a good weight, had enough energy to wiggle at the sight of Trevor, who was gaping at the infant. He stumbled back, a hand clasped over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I posted on FF.net quite a while ago (must've been a month or so after the GTA V's original release, come to think of it). It was also posted on Ao3, during a huge period of writing doubt. I didn't believe it was up to snuff at the time, but I've grown rather fond of it recently, so I've rewritten a few chapters, and I'm gonna finish this thing!


	2. Chapter 2

Trevor tore the drapes open, the farthest piece of cloth promptly falling from the aged wooden pole. The room was suddenly fully illuminated, Trevor staring down at the crib, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. There really was a child, squirming softly in his spot, little black dots jumping all over the infant's exposed flesh, onto the bedsheets. Trevor's horror fell just as quickly as it had appeared and he let out a soft, aggravated sigh, staring down at the baby accusingly.

"Oh, they just had to have a fucking kid, didn't they?!" The male let out a strangled sounding cry, kicking the bed opposite the crib with so much force the thing was pushed backwards, creaking suddenly across the rotting floorboards. The baby in the crib was visibly startled by the sudden loud noise, jumping, its tiny features screwing up as it began to wail again. The sound made Trevor feel sick with sudden panic. He tried valiantly to not let it show, almost afraid of showing weakness around the child, despite knowing full well that the child couldn't even begin to comprehend what weakness was. He made his way over to the side of the crib, peaking over it, scowling down at the creature.

"I...  _I_ should be the one crying, you little shit!" Trevor barked at the baby, who wails instantly softened, large grey eyes gazing somewhat hopefully up at the maniac, tiny fists clenched.

"It's always more complicated when there's a kid involved; they're always more thorough. I'm not going to the big house for this... Shit!" He was ranting, biting at his already bloodied fingernails, humming manically. The child just looked happy to be talked to, waving his hands effortlessly, letting out a soft cooing noise.

"Stop that. I'm not... Stop looking at me like that!" Trevor barked defensively. He moved back a little, out of the child's line of sight, closing his eyes to keep him from kicking the window through. For the first time in what felt like years, he genuinely didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to turn around and go find an innocent guy to dismember. Yet there was a moral obligation, however faint, not to leave the child alone, not to let it get shoved into some ridiculously flawed care system, get saddled with some abusive relative. He doubted the child would even be discovered for a few days, that it wouldn't survive that long without food or proper care. The thought that he would be partly responsible for the infant's death made his skin crawl. Trevor often killed for fun, he never made any excuses to the contrary, yet the thought of having an innocent baby's death on his conscious made him feel beyond shitty, even in foresight.

It was police sirens that jolted Trevor from his thoughts. Chamberlain Heights was an neighbourhood that was full to brimming of crime and gang violence, so the wailing of the siren wasn't for him, he knew. It still set him on edge, throwing him into deeper into his panic. With an angered roar, he scooped the child up, brushing a flea effortlessly from his face before promptly heading towards the exit of the apartment. The tiny creature in his grasp was shoved under the camouflage jacket he was donning, which was quickly zipped up, successfully shielding the little auburn haired infant from the rain that was now bouncing from the ground.

Trevor scaled the stairs, making his way back to his truck, trying to think, about what to do, a decent plan. He couldn't, though, the temptation to shoot an innocent passer by only fought off by the thought of startling the infant held possessively to his chest, attracting attention, potentially linked to the deaths of two people and kidnapping of a child. He wasn't prepared to lose everything over one botched job.

It was around this time that Trevor realized that driving back to the strip club, the place he'd intended to take the child while he attempted to consider was an impossibility. The infant under his jacket required a constant arm around him, otherwise he probably would've fallen onto the truck floor. He could've set him in the opposite seat, but he was too small to be secure. The infant was didn't deserve to be put in the back of the truck, either. At that point, Trevor really wanted to lose the kid but that wasn't the issue. He wasn't a amphetamine addicted juggalo, nor a paranoid divorcee whose savings had slowly seeped away from him in a rather justifiable mixture of divorce settlements and meth; he was a innocent little thing who had merely been dealt the wrong card in life. He'd done no wrong.

He drove carefully into a nearby alleyway, abandoning his beloved truck and walking the rest of the way to Strawberry, in the pouring rain, shielding the infant's head from the rain to little effect.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the strip club, Trevor's home, of sorts. Though even he saw a problem with taking a child into such a sordid place, at that present moment, it was his only option. He slipped through the doors, holding the child a little tighter to his chest, like he was afraid the bright pink lights and pop music would corrupt him. He made his way over to the booth that Wade was usually at, constantly being bombarded with more women than he'd probably ever even seen in his lifetime.

"Wade! Get over here!" Trevor barked, disregarding the scantly clad women that were positively dripping from the juggalo's form.

"Uh, I'm kinda in the middle of something, Trevor..." Wade responded tentatively, his face subtly flushed.

"It wasn't a request. You two, fuck off!" The woman scurried away, but Trevor caught one of their arms, recognizing the face of a woman who he knew had her own child. She would be useful.

"Except you. In the back." Trevor marched ahead, Wade and the stripper, a young woman named Candese following behind him, both visibly confused. The moment they hit the back room, Trevor shrugged his jacket off, pulling the infant away from him and shoving it into the stripper's arms. Wade stared at it, his cautious expression instantly fading.

"Aw! It's a 'lil cute baby! I didn't know you we're havin' a baby, Trevor!" Wade practically cooed.

"Shut up, Wade."

"I just meant..." The stripper glanced over at Trevor, the confusion still thick in her features which had admittedly softened slightly.

"Look, right now, I don't give a single shit. I found this kid, okay, I found it, and I have no idea what to do with it." Trevor leant against the wall, a little calmer now the child wasn't held to him, like the responsibility had fallen from his shoulders and onto those of Candese.

"He needs cleaning up, before you do anything. Some new clothes, a clean diaper." The woman piped up easily, running a hand through the child's auburn hair, which was clumped together with bits of dirt. Though she didn't think much of Trevor, she knew he'd done the right thing, somehow, the state of the infant a telling sign of obvious neglect.

"How do you know he's a boy?" Wade asked, rocking on his heels.

"I looked." Candese responded, sounding amused.

"We should give him a boys name, then. Unless he's already got a name." Wade looked at Trevor, who scowled at him, his fists clenched.

"Surprisingly, naming the little fucker wasn't exactly on the top of my to-do list.”

"W-well..." Wade looked frightened, Candese less so, wandering over to the vanity and sitting herself down by it.

"So he needs a name, clothes, diaper and bottles and formula. That's pretty doable." The woman responded, rocking the child in her arms. Trevor pulled his wallet from his pocket, tossing it to Wade.

"What she said." Trevor just wanted to sleep, for a few days, let the child be cared for and not have to have any responsibility over it. Wade hesitated, which just made Trevor angry, the maniac turning around.

"Now, Wade!" The juggalo squeaked, running from the club to fulfil his boss' orders. Trevor turned to look at Candese.

"I'll pay you overtime." He offered, before leaving the dressing room and heading to his office, collapsing into a heap on his sofa. The Valium on his desk was his initial goal but he fell into a sudden oblivion before he had a chance to paralyse himself for the evening.

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Uh... Trevor? You awake?"

Wade's voice cut through the silence that had filled Trevor's trailer for some time, only pierced by the somewhat shrill sobs that would occasionally emanate from the infant that the juggalo had been tasked with caring for, for almost a month. Though he often switched duties with a more than happy to oblige Ron, who Trevor was genuinely rather surprised that he hadn't had to blackmail into helping.

They'd kept him at the strip club, for a few days, until the cops had started sniffing around. Trevor had been spotted, by one of the men who lived at Crystal Heights, cradling a child, the authorities putting two and two together when the bodies of a couple had been discovered in one of the apartments. His exact identity was still a mystery but the the sighting had aroused too much suspicion. So Trevor had packed the infant, who the strippers and Wade had collectively decided to name Elijah, overruling Trevor's demand to make the infant his junior, into his car and had driven the entirety of the six hour journey to Blaine County with the child in a cheaply made, second hand car seat.

The whole thing had utterly thrown Trevor off course, so he'd ordered his associates, friends by default, to take care of the infant. He'd spent the vast majority of his days days tracking down members of The Lost, or finding operations that he could take over.

He did try, to think of somebody who would care for Eli, had even broached the subject to Maude while paying her a courtesy visit. He'd stopped short in his speech after spotting one of the convicts mulling around her trailer, coming to the conclusion that it probably wasn't the best environment to knowingly put a child into, purposely ignoring the fact that he'd left the poor kid with a paranoid tweaker and a amphetamine addicted juggalo, of course. And his own long list of crimes, but Trevor rarely took his own indiscretions into account.

Wade's irritating slur awoke Trevor, who had barely been asleep. That wasn't really the point, though. The male stood, limping from his bedroom and into the main body of his trailer, searching blindly for a baseball bat, some heavy item to hit Wade with. Punishment.

"What the fuck do you want, you pathetic-" He cut short when he spotted Eli, sitting up, his nose pink and overall disposition groggy.

"Uh, I-I didn't wanna wake you, but... I think he's sick." Wade managed to smile a little pitifully, stopping short when he spotted the murderous glint in Trevor's gaze. He took a moment to gaze at the grumbling infant in the bouncer chair, who was sniffling and mumbling inane gibberish at Trevor.

"What did you do to him?!" Trevor barked.

"I-I don't know! I know Ron took him out for a ride when he got groggy... T-the other night." Wade stood almost defensively, stopping short suddenly, like he'd just remembered who exactly he was dealing with. Trevor muttered something scathing under his breath, kneeling onto the littered ground to pick up the child, unbuckling him from his bouncer chair. Eli was immediately held at arm's length, as though he were poisonous.

"What do you want, you little shit?" He muttered darkly. Usually, he kept his language and violent mannerisms to a minimum around the child, but it was hard. He was tired, hadn't taken anything in a day or two and the effects of withdrawal and exhaustion were plain to see.

"I was thinkin' he had a cold, o-or somethin', but it ain't all that cold outside." Wade noted, and Trevor's angry expression dropped to one of utter exasperation.

"Maybe he caught retard from his uncle Wade, huh?" Trevor bared his teeth, grabbing the child and the aged Fatal Incursion backpack that Wade had taken to using whenever Trevor kicked him out of the trailer with Eli, as a diaper bag, of sorts.

Trevor practically bounced down the stairs of his decking, towards Ron's beat up old grey car that the infant's car seat was currently set in. Ron had left it unlocked, odd, for a man so paranoid as he, so Trevor didn't have to break the window open and risk hurting either himself, or Eli. He scrunched up his face, annoyed that the thought of them damaging the orange clad infant hadn't really occurred to him.

Trevor simply drove. He headed towards the hospital, intent on having the baby checked out, though he knew it was probably a cold. His panic was half out of a genuine worry, frustration with himself that he'd left the child with two people who couldn't even look after themselves properly and, perhaps more so, the fact he did not want the death of a child on his conscious. Trevor didn't even get past the convenience store before he stopped the car, though, beginning to really, visibly panic. Eli's disappearance had been covered on the television, in newspapers, vaguely, of course. Trevor had even been described, badly, but that wasn't the point. If he showed up with a child that had no hospital records, no mother, no nothing, he would immediately go down. For a child that he didn't give a crap about. Or maybe he did. Trevor didn't know.

He pulled up next to the 24/7 store, gazing down at the child, who looked tired. Every few moments, Trevor was absolutely sure he would fall asleep, only to witness the child sneeze, cough or sniffle his way into total lucidity again. He watched for longer than was necessary, thinking, behind the scenes. It was almost a full twenty minutes before plucking the sickly child from his car seat and staring at it.

"You've ruined my life, you know, you odious little turd. Everything was just peachy until Daddy decided that your Ma needed to die, and old Trevor got stuck with you. Now you're sick in the land of anti-vaccine rednecks, and I can't take you to the hospital, in case they recognize you, or me and shove us both into the government's care." Trevor told the child scathingly. He waited for a response, but the thing merely blinked at him, sniffing.

"Well?" Trevor's fingers reached under Eli's sleeve, and he was ready to pinch the child, make him cry, to deal with his own frustration and upset. He stopped abruptly when the infant let out a wide, somewhat teary smile, Trevor stopping cold in his rambling tracks. He'd never seen him smile before. Not even slightly. He'd simply assumed the child was too young to smile. The sight made him feel wanted, for the first time in so, so long. He was staring at someone who actually appreciated him, his presence. Despite the fact they were too young to sit up, or comprehend speech. He felt loved.

 

* * *

 

At around half-eleven that night, Lester Crest received an email from someone he'd hoped would never contact him again

_u think u could do me a faver?_

_-T_

There were many reasons this simplistic email annoyed Lester, who simply replied with a 'Why should I help you?'. He really wanted nothing more to do with Trevor, was already doomed to suffer a rather depressing fate without the maniac's leering presence. Lester received a reply not a moment later.

_cus i'm a old friend and u should help frends who are in need. i'm not doing it 4 me._

_-T_

Trevor's response almost intrigued Lester. While part of him was tempted to just shuffle off to bed, he was tempted to probe. Which, after a few moments of tracing his fingers on the keyboard, he decided to do. This time, Trevor took far longer to respond, around half an hour. When he did, Lester wasn't quite sure he believed him.

_if u must know, i found a baby in the cabbege patch and he doesnt have any docs. hes sick and i need 2 get him sum reel bad. stop bein a dik_

_-T_

Lester's blood ran cold. He was an extremely articulate man, and the cogs in his brain began whirring. It didn't take long for him to link everything, much to his personal impression. the news article he'd read about a murdered couple and their missing infant, the balding, Caucasian male who had been seen smuggling a child out of the area. He'd had his suspicions immediately after reading the article, almost last mouth, but he'd thought nothing of it. It wasn't like him to be so crass, risk getting caught, all to show apparent concern for human life. He opened another tab, replying with a quick 'I'll look into it.' to Trevor as he drafted an email to Michael. Short and sweet, but enough to get the message across.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Trevor had taken to watching Eli sleep. Every little breath that Eli took, every single time one of his limbs or extremities twitched, was an utter relief to Trevor.

It was strange, how peaceful the sight of the auburn infant snoozing was. It soothed even him, a man who struggled to sleep without prescription drug sold by the twitchy dealer who lived a few trailers down. It was more of a trade deal, really; a small baggy of crystal for enough Valium to last a normal person almost a year. Trevor went to him monthly.

Though none of that mattered, now. He hadn't taken anything since the night he'd found Eli sickened, practically snatched him back from Wade, like he were some sort of precious toy. And while he had begun to notice the withdrawal symptoms, while they were pulling him further and further into deprivation, he was too distracted every little nuance that made up Elijah to care.

The infant Trevor had been watching for quite a few hours awoke with a sudden start. His face scrunched up alongside his fists, and he let out a sharp wail, awoken too early by his own will. Trevor started somewhat, scooping the child up and shushing him quietly, until the child was silent, sniffing to himself as Trevor carried him into the main room and set him in his bouncer chair, next to the sofa. He left the child there, rummaging around in cupboards for the painkillers he'd been instructed to give the child if he got sick by one of the strippers.

"You feeling alright, buddy? Because I sure ain't." Trevor drawled, grimacing lightly as his gaze caught the blistering evening sun. He opened the purple packaging and extracting a syringe, as well as the little bottle of medicine that 'was suitable from birth and up'. Trevor frowned, shaking the bottle, as though he were suspicious of it. Nevertheless, he loaded the plastic syringe to the brimming with the pink liquid and pushed it into his own mouth before heading to sit next to Eli.  
"Y'know, kid... If I could have one do over, I think I'd try to get addicted to this stuff. It tastes like rainbows and dreams." He cooed, wandering over to the child, and sitting next to him. He pressed a hand to Eli's forehead, frowning somewhat. He was warm, but not hot to the touch. Trevor didn't really know what that meant, whether or not he should give the child some pain relief if he wasn't entirely sure he had a temperature.  
"You're pretty poorly, huh? I'm sorry if any of those hillbillies got you sick. I'll quarter them for 'ya." Trevor promised, moving to turn the television on and leaning backwards in his seat. Eli sniffled before he started to babble somewhat, waving his tiny hands in front of him, the motion bouncing his little chair up and down. Trevor sat forward again, showing interest.  
"Really? Ronny said that to you? That's not very nice... I'll give him a kick up the ass for you." He responded, planning to go through with his plan. The infant seemed to show enthusiasm with the idea, something which entertained Trevor to no end.

The somewhat back and forth conversation continued for some time, adding a pleasant amount of noise to the usually depressingly silent trailer. Until a faint roaring of an engine shook Trevor from the enjoyable conversation he was sharing with Eli, much to his tangible annoyance. He stood, teeth bared and fists clenched, poking his head out of the window angrily and surveying the landscape around his home.

There was a blisteringly clean yellow sports car, pimped out with tinted windows, tacky decals on the wheels. The vehicle stood out against the dismal backdrop that was Sandy Shores.

Trevor didn't recognize the car, so the sight infuriated him. The mere thought of a stranger invading his territory . The male practically seething as he stuck his head back into his home, stalking over to the door and kicking the thing open, the sudden banging making Eli jolt in his seat, though the infant did not cry. Indeed, he attempted to stare after Trevor, who was stood on his porch, hands grasped firmly to the wooden fence that surrounded it, leaning down to grab a loaded shotgun he kept under his worn utility bench, just in case a tweaker had stalked him home. He aim it at the figure, who looked alarmed, though Trevor's angered expression fell suddenly and he grinned idly. His aim did not quaver, however.

"It's been a while, you fat, traitorous waste of space. I almost started to miss you." Trevor informed Michael fondly, the male looking a mixture of alarmed and flattered. Michael mustered a soft smile, dropping his hands to his side and approaching Trevor somewhat brashly.

"Ah, I missed you too, T. As much as one can miss a crazy psychopath, anyway." Michael responded, tentatively approaching Trevor's trailer.

"I'm not a psychopath. Not today, anyway. I've taken a few days leave." Trevor informed Michael, kicking the door to his trailer closed.

"Right, because psychopathy is purely a opt-in, opt-out kinda thing." The thief chuckled in response.

"You bet your ass, cupcake. Uh... Y'know me, hate to change the subject and all but... What're you doing here?" Trevor was jammed between curiosity and utter dread.

"Can't I come and visit an old friend once in a while without being interrogated about a fuckin' alternate motive? Jesus, Trevor." Michael scoffed, crossing his arms over his jacket clad torso.

"Well... Sandy Shores _is_ a long way away from the glitz and glamour of Rockford Hills, Mikey. One wonders why you would... Inconvenience yourself like that, just for a courtesy call." Trevor mused almost mockingly. Michael let out a ragged sigh.

"You're tellin' me. There was a five mile tailback, on the highway, some impromptu drag race gone wrong. Added an extra half-hour to the journey." Michael shoved his hands in his coat pockets, gazing expectantly at his old friend.  
"So, you gonna invite me in, or what?" Michael asked, prompting Trevor to visibly tense, Eli flashing into his thoughts. Something told Trevor that letting Michael know about the infant probably wouldn't be one of the best choices he'd made in his mistake-ridden life.

"Nah, nah... We should go out for a beer or somethin. I'm fresh outta booze." Trevor bluffed.

"Shit, T, I don't care. I just really, really need to sit down." Michael made to open the door to Trevor's home, but Trevor grabbed his wrist, eyes wide with unadulterated anger and the slightest flicker of panic.

“You know how fucking rude it is to barge into people's property uninvited, huh, you fruity little shit?!" Trevor barked, pushing Michael backwards. The male gave an indignant cry, bracing himself on the fence.

"Shit, Trevor, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Michael shouted, dusting himself off and backing away from Trevor's threatening stance, spotting the fire in his eyes.

"What's wrong with me?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you fuckin' cunt?! My home is my sanctuary, and I'll be damned if I let anybody violate it-" Trevor began to bellow at the thief stood in front of him, only to have Michael violate his personal space once again, approaching him, leaving little distance.

"I know about the kid, Trevor." Michael cut over Trevor, who turned white. He quickly bounced back, however his hand wrapped around the doorknob as Michael stepped back, fishing a folder from his coat and offering it to Trevor."  
"Lester gave these to me. He's in the hospital, but he managed to-" Trevor snatched the folder from Michael, shaking somewhat. He flicked through the masses of paper, two birth certificates, family histories, well forged documentation. He scanned over it, squinting in difficulty at all of the blurry seeming words.

"Who the Hell calls their kid... Kit...?" The addict practically choked out after a moment, shoving Eli's real birth certificate under the one that simply read 'Ryan Philips', the obvious fake, though the name Lester had chosen to spite him shot fury down his spine. There was a saddened sounding whine behind the door, and Trevor fell onto it, opening so he purposely stumbled. Michael looked relieved to see the healthy looking child, squealing at the sight of Trevor, the little redhead bouncing up and down in his bouncer furiously.

"That's the kid, right? Shit... He looks... Happy. Healthy." Michael remarked, Trevor setting the documents on the kitchen counter. He knocked the door shut with his foot rather angrily.

"What, you think I was just gonna leave him to fester in his own shit? I do have a heart, Michael. But you wouldn't know that." Trevor grumbled in response, wandering towards the infant and clicking him out of his chair, the child squealing pleasantly again. Michael lingered by the closed door, looking perturbed, forcing himself silent.

"What did you call him? I'm assuming you wouldn't have actually named him Ry-" Michael began, but Trevor shot him a look that silenced him.

"Elijah. Well, Wade and the strippers named him Elijah, 'cause the honour of being named after the founder and CEO of TP Industries was an honour that those morons just didn't understand the true merit of. So, Elijah Bradley Philips." Trevor responded, pinching the child's nose. Though Eli wasn't really capable of much laughter yet, he smiled broadly. Michael grinned, a faux wince falling from his mouth.

"Really? You're seriously named him after that dick?" He let his concern drop for a moment.

"Sure. Respect for the dead and all. I toyed with the idea of naming him after you, but you reanimated, so I thought better of it." Trevor sat on his sofa, Michael ignoring Trevor's bitterness and following suite. He sat next to his friend and the child, offering the tiny redhead his hand, which the child immediately accepted with a concentrated expression.

“Hey there, little guy.” He voiced, Eli too entranced by the shine of Michael's wedding band to offer any tangible response.  
"Listen... I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'd come here purely to... Y'know, deliver the docs to you." Michael began suddenly, after a few moments of peaceful quiet. Trevor peeled a now bored Eli from his bouncer, setting him on his lap and bouncing him up and down.

"I'm all ears, Mikey." Trevor responded, Eli opening his mouth in a wide, gummy smile.

"I know having a child doesn't fit your lifestyle so good, T. And I want to help you. And the kid." Trevor's eyes widened in confusion, the maniac suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. Michael sounded calculated, like he was reading from a script. His seeming indifference to Eli suddenly made a great deal of sense.

"The fuck do you mean, 'help me'?" The male snarled, Michael sitting up a little straighter, turning to face Trevor properly. He was no threat with Eli on his lap.

"I'll take care of him. I swear to you. I can take him right now, hell, I even took Jimmy's car so I could fit the car seat into it. I'll raise him right, T, I promise. I'll let you see him whenever you want." Eli was promptly shoved back into his bouncer, Michael dragged to his feet by a raging Trevor, who promptly pulled him out of the door, back towards his son's car, against the side of the vehicle.

"You're not taking him away. Not now. Not ever." Trevor warned in a deathly quiet tone, letting Michael go.

"That kid is not a pet. He's a person, a real person who will need a loving, stable family. You're not either of those things, T." Michael snarled, prompting Trevor to press Michael's head against the window.

"And you fucking are?! You stay the fuck away. Understand?! You're not trying to help, you shifty fucker; you just want to corrupt him, like you did your kids, your whole fucking family!" Trevor all but bellowed. He shot back inside, bolting the trailer door shut and leaning against it, sinking onto the floor, his breathing laboured.

 


End file.
